


Bad Company

by CivilDisobedience



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Charon's POV, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Minor Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-08-29 05:18:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8476846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CivilDisobedience/pseuds/CivilDisobedience
Summary: She's wishy-washy in a lot of ways, most importantly in her morals. Good thing Charon's moral compass swings in any direction she commands.





	1. Chapter 1

“What was I supposed to do, leave him?” I heard her hiss.

“That’s precisely what you were supposed to do,” the ghoul replied sternly.

“That’s not how we’re gonna make this world better, Gob.”

“It’d make your life better. You don’t need any more responsibilities,” he commented.

She had me wait by the door of the bar. It felt almost like being back at the 9th Circle, but now everyone was staring at me. Normally there they’d just leave me alone, knowing full and well my purpose. Here, I was new. I was different. And I almost felt sorry for the ghoul bar tender, who was stuck here much like I had been there, until I heard him speak.

“My life wouldn’t be worth it if I didn’t help these people, Gob, and does it really hurt to give me a little fucking support?” My new employer was getting testy.

“In this instance, yes, smoothskin. I don’t understand why you always pick up strays.” Oh, fuck you, man.

Even from the door I could see her face flush red. “I picked you up,” was all she replied, her words slicing deep into the ghoul’s skin. As she walked away, his expression fell to sadness.

“Come on, Charon, let’s go drink at home,” my employer ordered. I followed.

Her shack was one of the biggest in the town, sitting upon stilts that made the building loom over the city. A rusty patio set was placed outside of the door which she headed to. Interesting. Not really, no. The lock clicked and door swung open, and I followed her inside. We were greeted by an overly friendly Mr. Handy, which met the barrel of my shotgun fast. She halted my trigger, however, and I grumbled.

“Hey, Wadsworth. This is Charon, he’s authorized to come and go and yadayada. I need a beer,” she sighed. The robot took her out loud thinking as an order, and he obediently brought her one. “Thank you, Wadsworth. Make yourself at home, Charon. There’s a spare bed upstairs from when I had a roommate, um.. Just.. You can figure it all out.” She handed me the beer the robot gave her, and I arched an eyebrow bone. Really? When she retrieved another and headed to her room, I was left standing in the middle of the living room. I guess so.

I took the liberty of inspecting my surroundings. This is, however, a new home base and I need to be familiar to keep my employer safe. Jesus, I’m boring. Her house wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Well, maybe a few more teddy bears than the average wastelander with no children, but otherwise average. I paced around the living room one more time before plopping onto the couch, happily finding a combat knife under the pillow. Smart girl. This made me rethink and explore the house more, finding knives stashed in places the normal wastelander wouldn’t look. One locker in the house was dedicated entirely to weapons she managed to collect. Some impressively built up, some used for parts.

I decided to bed down in the spare room she mentioned. It was a simple mattress on the floor with a dresser which I laid my pack on. The robot would float by the room every so often, peaking in the door I left open and clicking its pincers towards me. It was.. a weird thing to do, but robots always gave me the creeps. I left it alone for now.

Morning struck. I didn’t sleep too much, always listening through the thin wall to my new employer rustling in her sleep. For a tiny thing she made a lot of noise at night. I sat up on the bed, pulling my shotgun over my lap. She did, however, surprise me by knocking at the open door. From the week I’ve traveled with her, her movements during the day were always precise, calculated, and very quiet. She usually handled a modified - ‘pimped out,’ as she called it – sniper rifle, and with great accuracy.

“I think we’re just gonna hang out here for today. My shoulder’s acting up again, so I wanna rest it and sell some shit.” In public she spoke formal. In my company, she was as trashy mouthed as any other wastelander. Must be comfortable with me.

“If that is what you wish,” I replied robotically and she nodded, heading down the stairs. A simple grey t-shirt and pair of blue shorts adorned her smallish frame. Of course I watched her leave. I am a man, and she is a delicate female, and I’m so going to Hell for watching my employer for beyond safety reasons. But hey, what else is new?

“Hey,” she called from the bottom of the stairs, and I quickly slid out the doorway to see her. “Feel free to store any shit you don’t wanna haul in that dresser. It’s your room now, anyways.” She trudged off, and again I was left alone puzzled. But nonetheless, I stored everything I didn’t need to carry at that particular moment in the dresser: a combat knife I picked up from a raider. That’s it.

I left my pack in the room and grabbed my gun, taking the steps two at a time until I hit the ground floor. She was sat on the floor, rummaging through her pack for stuff to sell. Everything was tossed on the floor in small, organized piles. I dared not to fuck with her organization, instead leaning against the wall of the door.

“Charon,” she called, and I stepped forward. “Stop standing against the wall. Relax. Do what you need to do.” The amount of freedom she gives me makes me entirely uncomfortable. What was I supposed to do? “Oh, and don’t forget to eat,” she called after. Yeah. That could be good.

In about ten minutes I was sat crosslegged at her side, helping her organize the left over tidbits that clanged out from the bottom of her bag. I stuffed a snack cake into my mouth, and she took one from the box also. “Breakfast of champions,” she giggled. Why did this girl make me drop the bodyguard persona so fast?

She crammed everything into her pack and rose up, I immediately following. When she began to sling the pack over a shoulder, I halted her. “Miss, I’ll carry it. Your shoulder is in need of rest.”

My employer thought for a second before handing me the bag. “I’m not going to complain. Let’s go. Moira’s first stop.” She kept the small shorts and shirt on, and it made me worry. I’m going to have to be shooting someone today. Because my employer is certainly not ugly. On the road she tries to pass as male as much as possible. Hell, I thought a puny man bought my contract at first. The only thing that gives her away when we’re traveling is the voice and her face if you can see it past the combat helmet. But now, when her platinum blonde hair falls across her back and you can see the feminine sway of her hips, it was obvious I’d have to shoot someone at some point. I retrieved my shotgun and followed her out the door, grumbling.

Moira’s shop was covered in soot. The nuts woman was coughing and hacking when we entered, but she assured us it was safe to breathe. I placed the bag on the counter as my employer headed towards Moira. But the ‘scientist’ wasn’t about to listen to anything she said. Instead, she wandered towards me.

“Well I’ve never seen you before! Howdy there,” she said in such a cheerful tone I wanted to puke. She eagerly grabbed my hand and shook. I cringed. “My, my, you’re a big fella. I’ve never seen a ghoul quite like you,” she commented, flipping around my hand and inspecting it. “Can I take a skin sample? Oh please say yes!” I yanked my hand from her, not even bothering with a response. Fucking psycho.

“Anyways,” my employer cut off her inspection of me even more. “I would like to sell some of my belongings. Care to look?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure,” Moira commented softly, ripping her eyes from me for a second. Again. Fucking psycho. They ended up trading everything in the pack for a chunk of caps and stimpaks. Oh, and a box of shotgun shells. She pushed the box towards me and slung the empty pack on her shoulder, and departed with only a small wave to the nuts woman.

“I want to get back on the road by sundown,” she called across the bar to me. I was sat precisely where she told me to wait, and watched her emerge down the stairs. “I know I said I wanted to wait today, but I’m ready to get out of here.”

“Of course, Mistress,” I replied, always sounding robotic. She sat on a stool next to me, and automatically received a scotch from the ghoulish bartender. Throughout the afternoon at the bar he wouldn’t look at me, but only passed pitiful glances at my employer. A few drinks in and she was feeling a bit looser, managing to smile and chitchat with the redheaded whore of the bar.

“Skip to the good stuff,” the whore urged my employer, “did you find your old man?”

Her eyes dipped to the glass in her hand, a half smile strung across her face. “No. He’s in a vault somewhere, and now I need to find where. I left Rivet City and got a little distracted, so I wasn’t even able to check out the memorial.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to avoid him, hon. You were so dead-set when you left.”

“I know, Nova, I know.. It’s just been a little rough, y’know? Those roads are lonely and they left me too much time to think,” she sighed. So that’s why she obtained my contract; constant companionship. I never made a comment throughout their conversation. She tossed the caps down onto the counter and rose up, glancing at me. “You ready?” I nodded.

At her house we loaded up the packs. She had me cram one stimpak into her shoulder for good measures and rolled it experimentally. “Should be good,” she murmured, whether to me or herself I wasn’t sure. I slipped shells into the various pockets around my armor, and she layered up her armor. Her hair was always put into a high bun, head topped with a combat helmet. She filled her pockets with bullets and stimpaks, and just like that we were leaving Megaton.

\-----

“Glad you could see it my way, boys,” my employer grinned, eyeing the two captive raiders. We had traveled to Super Duper Mart in my employer’s hope of finding information for the nut job’s book. Taking out the two raiders guarding the place was no problem for her sniper rifle. The worst of it, which was still pretty tame, was getting inside and seeing about six more wandering around, stoned and gross. Four were quickly dispatched by her assault rifle and my shotgun. The two that remained, one of which seemed to be a leader, were bound by her request.

“I’m a girl,” one of the raiders croaked.

My employer’s eyebrows furrowed. “Ew, really? No matter,” she continued with harassing them for answers regarding any supply routes and shit like that. I did my duty by being the intimidating bodyguard. She didn’t ask me to hurt anyone, thankfully. In fact, in the few weeks I’d been traveling with her, she never asked me to hurt anyone. It was kind of a relief. The closest she got was asking me to bind them tonight, which really wasn’t anything.

“Bitch,” the female raider hissed, spitting at the shoes of my boss.

“Mm.. Yeah, I suppose so. Nevertheless, I’m going to browse. Do whatever you seem fit, Charon.” With that, she strode off towards the pharmacy and I heard the telltale sign of looting which was her pack hitting the ground.

I left them tied up. If I could have a second chance, so could they.

When her pack was bursting at the seams with food and chems, we hit the road again. We didn’t talk much when we traveled, only really communicating by hand signals and eye contact. She took a few steps towards a metro, one that we haven’t gone through before, and glanced back at me. I nodded – ready when you are. And she smirked in return. The chain link fence screamed in protest as she slid it open. Great, there goes our element of surprise. Nothing’s ever really a surprise when I’m around, though. It’s hard to hide when you’re my size. To my dismay, she stepped into the metro opening before me. She needs to let me do my fucking job.

I managed to outstep her and take lead when a growl caught us both by surprise. “Where,” she hissed, more of a command than question. A push of a button lit up her fancy wristwatch’s light and displayed a herd of ferals right before us. They blinked, as if blinded by the sudden light, which gave plenty of time for me to swing out my shotgun and plow through a couple. I heard no gunshots from my boss, which worried me until I noticed she was right at my side with a machete. Crazy ass smoothskin. A couple more were downed by my shotgun, and she managed one or two every now and then with her blade, but she mainly stayed behind me. When the herd was cut down, she motioned for an office area. I guess she wanted to bed down after that.

We followed by the usual unspoken arrangement of nights in the wasteland: I board up whatever room we’re held in, and she makes it ‘homey.’ She brings out the food, I bring out the medical kit. She always strips down to civilian clothing, too. Tonight, the first thing she stripped off was her helmet. In our times of traveling together, I always wondered why we did things from distance – my shotgun isn’t meant for distance. When she removed her helmet and I could fully see her face in the glow of the light, I realized why. She was terrified.

I felt her staring as I ate. She did this often, but tonight it was unnerving. I looked up from my can of pork n’ beans, an edge to my voice on purpose, “What?”

She kept staring, something I’d guess as curiosity in her eyes. It was a few seconds before she actually answered, “You left them tied up.” Bingo. Nailed it. I nodded, returning to my food, but she carried on. “You don’t like killing things, do you?”

And it was gonna be one of those nights. Occasionally she’d ask me questions if she were bored, some drawing way too close to a line. She never made me answer, however. “Sometimes.”

“Why them?”

I focused on my food, not even bothering to look up at her. I didn’t need to see her face to tell her emotions. She was too expressive when she talked to me, and not enough when she talked to others. “I figured they could have a second chance. They were only teenagers, it seemed.”

It took a while for her to reply again, probably thinking, but I felt the burn of her stare on me the entire time. “You’re kind deep down inside,” she began softly, and I looked up to see a smirk grow. “How deep inside I don’t know, but I’ll find out,” there was that voice of determination that made my skin crawl. Well, what was left of it. Fuck.

Every morning, noon and night she fucked with her watch thing. Even with that thing she’s lost, which again is why I think she bought my contract. I never really asked her. Her sudden voice in the early morning air is what snapped me out of my thoughts. “Have you ever been to Maryland?” Huh.

“Yes. I am, as you humans say, ‘old as shit,’ remember?” Out of the corner of my eye I saw her crack a smile

“Well, uh, there’s this boat that offered to take me to Point Lookout. I wanna go.”

I simply shrugged. There wasn’t any point in asking my opinion, because I’d just go along with what she said anyways.

“Well since you won’t give me your opinion, I’m making an executive decision. We’ll leave by tomorrow night.” She strolled through Megaton’s gate confidently, and I followed behind.

We made a stop to Moira, much to my dismay, and my boss helped her write the next chapter of her ridiculous book. The pay wasn’t all that well for what we go through getting the information. One night after trekking through Minefield, we set up camp in one of the abandoned houses. She shoved a skeleton off the bed and relaxed, while I cracked the cap of a whiskey bottle. That night she disclosed to me how she only did these stupid requests for the excitement, and how the pay was just a happy addition. She was an adrenaline junkie when it comes to sniping. After selling most of the drugs to Moira, my boss keeping some tablets of buffout for ‘emergencies,’ we headed to her shack to prepare.

“It’ll take a month to get there,” she stated, tossing some boxes of food into her pack. I looked up from cleaning my shotgun, a brow bone arched. She continued, “A month by boat. I’m not too fond of that myself, but I wanted to run it by you first.”

I went back to cleaning my shotgun, mumbling, “Where ever you go, I shall follow.”

She stood up straight, which wasn’t very tall either way, and cocked her hip out. “That’s not what I fucking wanted, Charon.”

“I don’t have a say. I follow your orders.”

She huffed, placing a hand on her hip. “For the past month of us traveling, I have never treated you like a fucking slave. I’ve always given you options and your freedom. Start acting like a man.”

I stared at her, annoyance growing inside my chest. Why did she have to make shit complicated? Just order me around like the weapon I am. “200 years of being a puppet does this to you, Miss.”

I watched her plop onto the couch next to me, scooting a little too close for comfort. She took my hand off the gun, grasping it between her two tiny hands. “You’re not a slave anymore. Fuck that piece of paper and all your training. I refuse to give you orders, so you’re going to have to suck it the fuck up and make your own choices.” Such a way with words. I sighed and nodded.

She stood up and smirked, heading back to finish her bag, and I was left confused and slightly agitated. What else is new?


	2. Chapter 2

We traveled by night usually. It annoyed me greatly, as it was near impossible for me to see anything past a few yards. We could’ve been walking into an ambush, and my hearing isn’t what it used to be. She said the night made her relaxed: being able to look up and not have fluorescent lights above her head gave her peace. I accepted her wishes and moved on. 

The boat was pretty far away, surprisingly. We traveled all night, only blasting a hole in a couple mole rats along the way. It was situated at the end of the Potomac River, landed against a freshly built dock. Just as we were about to step foot onto the boat, a woman rushed us and began a frenzied plea of help. By natural instincts, my shotgun was aimed directly at the woman until she backed away a safe distance from my employer. She gave me a dismissive nod that signaled to put my gun away and I followed the order.

“Please,” the woman wailed, “you have to help me!”

“Calm down there,” my boss dryly soothed, “I can’t understand you if you’re howling. Tell me what’s wrong.”

The woman took a few shaky breaths. “I’m Catherine. I’m looking for my daughter Nadine who stowed away on this boat. She has been gone for a couple of months, and I really want to know she’s safe. Please, if you’re going to Point Lookout, will you please tell her I want her home?”

“Consider it good as done,” my employer smiled to Catherine. She turned away from the woman and stepped onto the boat, glancing to me briefly. In the early morning sun I could see the bags under my boss’ eyes, and the rosy tint to her cheeks that the sun always forced on her pale complexion. But she smiled at me nonetheless and continued on to the Duchess Gambit.

Not even five minutes after leaving the shore she was fast asleep. We had to stay in one of the two tiny rooms the boat had to offer and I automatically took first watch. There was something about Tobar, the Captain, that was shifty as fuck, especially when he looked my boss with a curious gleam to his eyes. Only 30 more days.

By the fifth day, my boss was going stir-crazy. She paced around the small room in the day time, and around the deck at night. There was nothing I could do but sit there and watch, cleaning my shotgun for the twelfth time since we left. She huffed dramatically, throwing herself onto the bench beside me. 

“This is taking forever. I’m bored.” 

I remained quiet for a second, thinking. “What would you like me to do about it?”

She looked around the small room thoughtfully, before finally having an ‘ah-ha!’ moment and launching from her seat to our bags. A moment of shuffling was rewarded with a bottle of wine and mostly intact deck of cards. “Play with me.” Ughhh. 

Two hours and forty-four rounds of ‘go fish’ later, she was hammered. It was almost night time by then, and a sticky heat encased the boat. I was shuffling the deck of cards as I heard the telltale signs of her stripping down: belt buckle clinking, boots thunking to the floor, and a satisfied sigh. She wasn’t much for wearing clothes whenever we were mostly safe and it drove me up the wall. Again, I am a man. I glanced up to see her even more nude than usual: only really being covered by black boxers and a cut off tank top. Underwear was slim in the wasteland, especially for a woman, but she made due. I focused my eyes back on the cards, grumbling, and took a long swig of my own bottle of wine. I’ll fucking need it to survive with her. 25 more days. 

“Charon,” I heard her whisper in the pitch black cabin. “Chaaaron.” I laid on the floor as still as possible, pretending to be asleep. I heard her huff, roll over on the bench, and felt something jab me in my shoulder. “Charon,” she called again, a bit more sternly this time. 

“What,” I hissed, not even bothering to roll over and face her. I knew the damn look she had on her face just by her tone. She was going to being harassing me with questions any minute now. 

“Do you know what my name is?” Fucking called it. 

“Names are unimport-” I began to reply, until I felt her jab me again. I sighed. “No.”

I could tell she smiled triumphantly by the way she spoke. “Abigail.”

I didn’t reply out loud, only repeating her name in my head. Abigail. It fits her. Abigail. 

She didn’t demand any more conversation out of me that night. Only 18 more days. 

“You know,” she spoke through a mouthful of apple, “this is kind of like the Mayflower.”

I had just fucking walked through the door and already had to hear some weird shit she usually says. I slung my shotgun into the corner of the room and began unlacing my shoulder plates. She took my silence as a sign to continue. 

“We’re on a boat for a long-ass time, in small quarters, going to a new and exciting land!” I looked over and she was smiling at me, sitting cross legged on the bench. Her childish smile and excited outlook on life made me grin internally, which I think leaked onto my face from the way her own smile grew tenfold. 

“I guess so,” I replied after stripping off a few more pieces of armor. “Except most of them die. If not on the boat, on the new land.” Her eyes looked up from what I assumed was a history book, total devastation filling them. Shit..

“Oh.. I haven’t gotten that far..” Abigail whispered, closing the book and setting it down next to her. I’m such a dickhead. 15 more days. 

These tight quarters were finally weighing on me. She was everywhere, and I couldn’t seem to get a moments peace. It’s not that I found her annoying, in fact quite the opposite, and that’s what bothered me. In all my years of employment the most joy I’ve ever found with an employer was mild content. With her, I’m actually beginning to look forward to days spent with her - when she comes up with random shit to tell me, or weird games to pass the time. No way in hell I’d ever admit it. 13 more days. 

After a rousing day of twenty-eight rounds of ‘go fish,’ and an entire bottle of whiskey on her part, she climbed into my lap. I froze. What the fuck is she trying to do. Her hands were splayed across my shoulders gently, only squeezing a bit when she shifted to straddle my legs. This is going really bad really fast.

Abigail smirked at me, leaning in to peck my forehead softly. When I wouldn’t do anything except hold my breath, she looked at me. “You don’t like me?” she practically whined. 

“You don’t like me,” I hissed, trying to force any hopes that she’s brought into my head out. Why is she going to fuck with me like this? 

“But I dooo,” she cooed, nuzzling her face into my neck. A shiver shot down my spine, and even though I knew it was only because of the alcohol, I couldn’t be anything but hopeful. Since the beginning of this trip I’ve grown so attached to her, and woken up so many times from short dreams of her on my lap just like this, that it’s impossible to not be hopeful. But I know she’s fucking with me, and the thought makes my blood boil. 

“No,” I replied a bit harsher than intended, and lifted her off my lap. “You’re drunk and bored.” I placed her on the bench and got to my feet, turning to see her staring at me. She didn’t say anything, which was rather unusual, but I ignored it and walked out of the cabin. 9 days left. Please, for the love of my sanity, hurry the fuck up.

She was quieter over the next few days – her nose buried in a book about the civil war. It was thick, and she was shooting right through the damn thing. I was grateful, however. The less she spoke, the less I could like her. If only it were that easy..

That night I slept on the floor of the cabin, and she slept on the bench. It was pretty normal, except the fact that we hadn’t spoken since the incident. The cabin was dark, and I was drifting between sleep and reality until I felt her poke me in the shoulder. “Charon?” Her voice was so small this time around. I mumbled ‘what,’ and she continued. “I wasn’t drunk. It was watered down. I was just tipsy enough to get the courage to finally say I liked you.” I was silent, my breath hitched in my throat. What the fuck. I heard her stand, and I thought she was going to leave. A small panic struck that subsided when she squirmed her way underneath my arm, pressed close to my chest. I think I can wait 5 more days..


	3. Chapter 3

She hates me. That’s all there is to it. This little fucking girl hates me. 

And right now, the way her green eyes are dancing as she talks to this prick of a ghoul with a stupid ass pencil mustache makes me want to choke her with his internal organs. Well, that’s dark even for me. 

“Come on, Charon,” she finally addresses me, and my brow bone arches. “Mr. Lockheart said we can sleep here tonight.” 

“Please, girl, call me Desmond,” the ghoul cooed to her, and I imagined thirty-five different ways to kill him with his tie. 

“Thank you very much.. Desmond,” Abigail replied, flashing a smirk to him before trailing off to the stairs. I glanced to him to see his eyes outlining the shape of her ass in her armor. Thirty-six. 

After giving a swift kick to one of the dead natives, I followed her up the stairs, grumbling. One of the hallways right off the giant ass staircase room was littered with bedrooms. Abigail picked one with a massive bed and threw her shit on the floor. I gently shut the door and sat at the mostly intact desk, beginning repairs on my shotgun. For a prick, this guy has a pretty impressive house. Must be compensating. 

I was reassembling my shotgun when she called to me, “Charon, come to bed. I’m cold.” I didn’t respond, screwing one of the last pieces into place. She huffed, and I heard the bed frame squeak, then felt two warm arms around my neck. “What’s wrong, you don’t like me anymore?” Abigail pecked her lips to my temple. I shifted from her grip, standing suddenly. She whined in question, but I ignored it and headed towards the door with my shotgun in hand. 

“I will return, Mistress.”

It took an hour to calm my nerves from her fucking with me. I don’t understand why she insists on doing it, but fuck if I’ll let her win. I still have my pride, dammit. When I walked back into the room, she was unconscious on the bed with a book splayed over her chest. What a nerd. I slept on the floor as usual that night. In the middle of the night I felt her nudging into my side, and I willingly let her mold into me. She was so warm, and fuck, I’m weak. It was the best night sleep I’ve gotten so far. 

Shit.

In the morning she was gone, and panic set it. I fucking hate when she disappears on me. How am I supposed to do my job? I grabbed my shotgun and spun in a small circle, searching for my armor. Dumbass, I slept in it. With a frustrated grunt I took off out the door, practically skidding around the corner before taking the steps two at a time downwards. Her giggles echoed throughout the entry room, and I white-knuckled my gun. One thing I’ve prided myself on is how quietly I can move, and right now is a prime example as I stepped into the kitchen without either parties realizing. Abigail stuffed a cake into her mouth as Desmond rambled about some Calvert rivalry.

“Will you help me?”

“Help you with killing some man I’ve never met? That is a bit low, Desmond,” Abigail retorted and I smirked internally. She does have a bit of a moral compass. 

“No, no, dear, nothing like that. You’ll meet him. He has been brainwashing the natives to try and murder me,” Desmond pushed, “You’d be doing me a great kindness.” 

She shifted on the stool, almost awkwardly. “I’ll see what I can do.” I cannot believe she was so easily persuaded by this fuck. I walked further into the kitchen, ending up right next to Abigail. She jumped, cursing under her breath. “Jesus Christ, Charon, do not sneak up on me like that!” Desmond’s face fell at my presence. 

“My apologies, Mistress. Shall we continue on our mission?” 

Abigail grinned, hopping down from the bar stool and shoving one last cake into her mouth. “Yeah, let’s go. We’ll need to dump our stuff off at the hotel again, though.” 

“Nonsense,” Desmond cut in. He slid off the stool and wrapped an arm around her waist, and I’m now at thirty-seven. “You can leave your stuff here. It will be safe.” Abigail nodded a small thank you and began up the steps, Desmond’s eyes following her ass again, and then shooting a smirk at me. My blood boiled, but I pushed it down and trailed after her as I’m meant to. 

I sat on the bed as she loaded up her bags. “Don’t worry, Char. We’re not going to stay here. I don’t trust him around my shit anyways.” I saw her glance back and smile at me, but I ignored it. 

Eventually we made it back to the hotel. It was a rundown little single-story piece of shit. Only two rooms were actually in stable condition with no gaping holes in the walls, and only one of them had a door that locked. Our first night here she had picked the lock within seconds and we walked in to the smell of mold, total grossness, and a skeleton on the bed. She insisted we move ‘him’ to the tub where he can ‘relax.’ She set him up all nice and gave him one of the old beers we found in the room. 

Abigail dropped her stuff on the floor and began rummaging, presumably taking out anything of value because she headed towards the wall safe. I unloaded most of my luggage into the footlocker at the end of the bed, only really keeping the necessities in my pack. I assumed she was finished organizing shit as I heard no more rustling, but I didn’t expect her to be standing right the fuck behind me when I stood up. I nearly jumped out of my flakey skin, for Christ’s sake. 

She opened her arms expectantly and I arched a brow bone. Again with this? When she knew I wasn’t going to fall into her arms like a damsel in distress, she forced me into a hug, pressing her face against my chest plate. This little fucking girl.. Abigail must have felt how ridged I was to her touch, so she let go. 

“Don’t like me anymore?” What was she, a fucking broken record?

“I do not mind you, Mistress.”

She huffed, plopping onto the end of the bed. “I saw you shooting daggers into Desmond constantly. I was just acting that way to get details about Nadine. You should know me by now.” Well, I guess she’s right about that part. I should know she plays men like a fiddle to get information. “Why do you think we’re not there anymore? He knew nothing and wanted me to kill a random-ass dude. I’m not gonna fuck with him.” I smirked.

“My apologies, Mist-Abigail.” 

“Besides,” she began, swinging her feet. God, she’s short, “I don’t like ghouls.” As much as I tried to hold it back, my face contorted into disgust. What the fuck did she mean she doesn’t like ghouls? I guess she noticed, because she quickly hurried out the rest of her sentence, “Plural. Ghouls. I only like one. Singular. You.” 

I don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about half the time. 

Abigail hopped off the bed and buried her face into my chest plate in another hug. This time I actually hugged her back, but lightly, because she’s so tiny and I’ll probably squish her. 

“Let’s get a move on,” she announced suddenly, squirming out of my arms. Abigail fastened her combat helmet, re-laced her boots tighter and grabbed her rifle. I shouldered my pack and grabbed my shotgun, and just like that we were gone. 

Only an hour into our trip, going where I wasn’t even sure, we heard a guttural scream and a bullet whizzed past my kneecap. Instincts made me shove Abigail behind a neighboring tree-shrub duo and fire blindly into the direction. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be. I heard the scream again, this time with a maniacal laughter accompanying it. There’s gotta be more than one. 

The first one I managed to shoot was way too close for comfort. I shot it practically point-blank range, right in the chest. The laughter was still echoing and I was looking around frantically. By the time I saw it, their head exploded from a .50 Cal to the eye. Huh. She’s a good fuckin’ shot.

Abigail sauntered over to me as if nothing had even happened, picking a twig from her armor. I tried to avoid her silly little smirk, the same she always makes after sniping things. She ended up walking right past me and to the corpse, crouching, and beginning to poke at it. 

“It looks gross..” she mumbled, and I took a few steps over to the creature. “What is it?” I didn’t answer, not really knowing myself. It was almost human, except for an extended gut and all around fucked up looking physical attributes. Okay, it was basically not human except that it walked on two legs and apparently had vocal cords that could shatter glass. And shoot a gun, albeit poorly. Abigail was still crouched next to the body, jabbing at it a bit harder with the handle of her combat knife. “It’s squishy..” Gross.

The reason she stopped jabbing at the corpse was to dive on the gun the thing had. I guess she had forgotten that I almost took a bullet to the knee. She was leaned over the body on her knees, grabbing at the rusted gun, and my eyes shamefully grazed up her behind. I’m a man, dammit. An old, creepy man.. Abigail sat back on her heels, inspecting the gun with a childish glint to her eyes. Damn, I hadn’t seen one of those since before the war. I sauntered over to the other dead body and picked up their weapon – the same type of gun – and a small hat they were wearing. She looked absolutely thrilled by the gun, so much so that I didn’t even bother to push her to keep moving. I slid the loot into my bag and paced the area for potential threats as she enjoyed herself. The kid deserves some time off to nerd out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of this was inspired by LikelyValentine's story 'I Told You So.'   
> If you haven't read it, you really should. It's adorable. 
> 
> Charon's favorite word is 'fuck.'

Her eyes are gorgeous, an emerald piercing through dusk, practically burning a hole into my soul. They scorched every piece of skin I had left as they traced up my body, taking in every flaw. She promised I was fine with the intensity in eyes, but I knew it was a lie. I’d be stupid to turn her away as she crawled the length of the bed, hovering over me with a hand to my chest. It stung almost as much as it soothed, and I swore she could feel the dull throbbing of my empty heart. But she shown her pearly smile anyways, leaning closer and closer to my face until..

“Chaaaron,” I heard her singsong, jabbing me with the handle of her knife, “Wake uppp!”

My eyes snapped open. Son. Of. A. Bitch. 

I groaned painfully, rolling to my side and covering my face. Thank god I have my armor on, or she could’ve seen a prominent issue. I am so fucked.

“Come on Char. We have a long fuckin’ day ahead of us. I think I know where Nadine is.”

Reluctantly I sat up and rubbed the back of my head. I hate her. 

Two shells to an inbred’s head rewarded me with Abigail’s gleeful squeal. She dropped to her knees and began tugging the weapon out of the dead creature’s stiff hands. 

“Just think, Char,” she began, turning the weapon over in her hands, “With how many of these bastards are around, I’ll be able to make a practically new gun!” I watched her eyes roam the gun, a dark part of me jealous at the interest she gives weapons. Another part of me oddly aroused that a small, seemingly delicate female knew her way around a machine meant for killing. 

Fuck fuckity fuck.

The closer we got to where we were going, the more defensive I felt. There’s something entirely wrong with these natives, I just can’t figure out what. If what Desmond said was true, they could all easily be triggered into attacking. I’m a good bodyguard, but not that good, especially when I saw them all pouring out of the church doors and into the lands behind the rod iron wall. There had to be at least 25, all with axes strapped onto their back. Our only option would be to haul ass, and I don’t think she could make it. 

Luckily it didn’t come to that. I stood behind her and played my part of scary-ass bodyguard while she wooed this reject at the gate. Unfortunately, we had to pass a ‘Mother Punga’ test, or some shit, which lead us away from the cathedral. 

“Charon?” She questioned. I glanced towards her and she caught the memo to continue. “Can you see okay?”

My face scrunched slightly. See? Of course I can fucking see. Well, maybe not as far away as I used to before I turned.. Or close up.. Fuck it.

“Yes.”

“Really? Because, you always squint when playing with your gun, and you really can’t see the inbreds when they sta-” she rambled on, but I cut her off with a flick of my hand.

“I’m fine.” 

She shrugged, and we carried on our way. A few moments later we ended up at a place called ‘Haley’s Hardware’ and ventured inside. My shotgun was raised, alert, but Abigail wandered through the doors as if she had been there a hundred times. She makes my fucking blood boil with her reckless actions. 

“Howdy, Miss, Welcome to Haley’s Hardware!” the man cheerfully greeted. He was short, dark skinned, and wearing a mechanic’s jumpsuit.

“Hi,” Abigail waved, almost awkwardly with a small smirk. Here we go.. “I’m looking for some pieces to help fix my gun. However, I don’t even know where to begin.” Damsel in distress. I need a beer.

She laid the gun on the counter and the two of them begun talking. I sat on a bench near the front door, observing the two. He was explaining to her everything she already knew, in very small words and vague descriptions. Haley pulled pieces out from a box under the counter and sorted them, saying what she’ll need and how many, and their purpose. Abigail listened intently, and even surprised me by asking a dumb question. This woman could repair anything I’ve ever imagined. 

I must have zoned out for a couple minutes, because next thing I know, she’s wrapping up the sale and dropping caps into his hand; a very small amount of caps for a good chunk of parts. She sure knows how to play men like a fiddle. 

“I’m nervous,” Abigail admits as I’m sealing off the entrance of a small shack. She strips her helmet and fluffs her hair, and I drop my pack onto the ground. “I don’t know what a ‘Mother Punga’ is, what if it kills me?” The genuine sound of worry in her voice is what made me turn to look at her. She was digging in her bag to bring out foods, but her eyebrows were crinkled. 

“It is not going to kill you, Abigail,” I tried to promise. “I’ll be with you. Nothing will go wrong.” 

I saw her pause in rummaging in her bag. “Thanks..” 

The fire was started near a hole in the wall. Not incredibly safe to have a fire going, but this damn place was so gross and mushy that it was almost a necessity. I know it makes her happy, too. The nights in Point Lookout were much colder than DC. We put a few cans on the fire and she scooted over to me, tight to my side. 

“I got you something,” she mumbled, pulling something wrapped in cloth out of her pocket. I arched an eyebrow bone as she handed it to me. Unwrapping it lead to a pair of brand new glasses sitting in my hands. 

“I told you I can see,” I hissed. 

“Please, please just try them. If they suck, I’ll throw them away.” Abigail shot me those puppy eyes and I sighed. Damn girl. She must have forgotten that I don’t have ears, so getting the glasses to stay on was a bit tricky. But when I actually looked through them, it was like a different universe, and she was ten times more beautiful. Fuck. “Well?”

“They do improve in the quality of my surroundings slightly,” I lied. These things are a gift from God. She shone that ‘I see through your bullshit’ smirk. She adjusted the glasses slightly, her tongue sticking out in concentration. I couldn’t help but stare. And then, surprisingly, she pecked a kiss on my cheek. 

“Thanks for trying.” Abigail smirked, scooting away until she was on her bed roll and laid down. 

Ugh.

It was only a few hours into the day when Abigail and I found the ‘Mother Punga.’ A giant, smelly plant. Neither me or Abigail saw the appeal, but she got on with the ceremony anyways. This landed us where we were now: at the Arc and Dove Cathedral, Abigail’s butch cut hidden below her combat helmet, and her talking to Nadine. 

“I have a good idea who’s been cuttin’ our heads open,” Nadine whispered. “Just an idea, but I’ll snoop around a bit more.”

“Okay,” Abigail sighed, “But please, go home and see your mom soon. She worries.” The redhead nodded, and we headed out the doors. 

The whole trip home she was silent, which unnerved me. What if.. They took something out of her brain that made her Abigail? Why the fuck do I care? We ended up at the hotel and she dropped her bag on the floor, without even sorting anything. Uncharacteristic. She flopped onto the bed and shut her eyes.

I didn’t know what to do but stand there, fingers itching at my side. When she finally ripped her helmet off and threw it at the wall, I sat down at the foot of the bed. I tried to gently pat her leg, but I don’t know the first thing about being soothing. Fuck’s sakes. 

“It’s not fair,” she blurted out at last and nearly made me jump out of my skin flakes. “Why the fuck did they have to shave my head? Nadine still had her hair.” She sat up and scooted to the top of the bed.

“It is just hair, it’ll grow back.”

“That’s not the point. How am I supposed to get anywhere without my looks? That’s how I get everything you and I need, Charon.”

“You could try.. threatening them?” I suggested, albeit a shitty idea.

She thumped her head back against the wall, eyes clenching. “That’s not how you make friends.”

“Then we just wait until it grows out if it bothers you so much.” 

“That’s going to take forever. I have shit to do.” Abigail cracked her eyes to look at me. “Do you still like me even though I don’t have hair?”

I sighed. Was she serious? “Yes.” The response made her smile and shut her up for a few minutes, so I guess that’s all she wanted. Okay. I got up from the bed and headed outside to piss. I came back inside and expected her to be ready to head out because it was still light, but I got a whole different scene. She was plopped on the bed, legs dangling off the edge as she grasped a bottle of whiskey. She was in a different set of underwear than I’ve seen, one much more revealing and form fitting with a high hip cut. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her clothes folded neatly on the table. Now she’s back. 

Abigail motioned me over, waving the bottle slightly. “Come on, Charon. Play with me.” I didn’t see the deck of cards anywhere. Fuck.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're finally getting somewhere. Woo. Next stop, the Pitt? Maybe find Dad?  
> Tune in next year because I'm awful at procrastinating!  
> Jk. Maybe. I'm really awful.

When I wouldn’t move from the door, she huffed and stalked towards me. The way she grasped my hand gently, a thumb running over the exposed meat, made me panic inside. Why does she insist on doing this to me constantly? “Come on, don’t be so stiff about it,” she whispered happily, ending it in a small giggle that sent a chill coursing down my spine. This is heading very wrong very fast, but I couldn’t help but follow her wherever she led me. She plopped back on the bed and cracked the bottle of whiskey open. I watched, probably in more interest than reasonable, as Abigail pressed it to her lips. She managed a bigger gulp than I expected, but then she handed the bottle to me. 

Honestly, I see why they call it liquid courage. Normally this stuff wouldn’t do jack shit for me, but right now it gave me the little push I needed to grab her by the hips and tug her towards the edge of the bed. Whether she gasped from shock or excitement I didn’t care. I finally had her pale flesh squeezed below my hands. It was more than perfect, the goosebumps that littered her mostly unscarred skin when I rubbed my hands along her hips. I had to be leaving little scratches from my flaked up skin, because a dusting of red appeared wherever I went. And she’s really fuckin’ pale, so that could be it too. Nevertheless. I was too focused on the simple act of touching her to even notice Abigail’s hands tracing down my stomach and her fingers lacing into my belt. Until she unclipped my belt and was working on my pants, that is. Eager much?

I seized her hand which made her whine defiantly, attempting to yank it from me. “Come onnn, Charon. Let me have my fun.”

“Not yet,” I growled into her ear, and noticed more goosebumps litter her skin. I leaned further into her, bending awkwardly over the bed to have her flat on her back as I began running my lips down her cheek. In actuality, it’s been about three decades since I’ve been with a woman. It’s like riding a bike, I guess. Especially the way her legs wrapped almost instinctively around my hips urged me on. Fuck, she’s making this difficult to be slow. Her hands were working rather quickly to unlace my chest armor. A nip at her neck rewarded me with a sigh, and another nip in the same area a small moan. Interesting.. I worked in a line down the entire length of her neck, biting and sucking, leaving the whole thing red and painful looking, but she didn’t complain. Far from the opposite, in fact, judging by the way she squirmed and grabbed at my shoulders. 

I reached underneath Abigail to squeeze on her ass, pulling her up closer to me. Her hips met mine naturally, and I breathed out a long, whiskey tainted breath on her neck. One more time she reached for my zipper and I allowed it, grinning cockily as she let out a breathy ‘Oh,’ and rubbed along me. This girl’s going to kill me. The way my hips snapped to meet her hand was a bit embarrassing, but hey, thirty years will do that to you. 

I was just sliding my hands in the waistband of her panties when an explosion went off. Abigail sat up from the bed and head-butted me, which sent me back a couple inches. Oh my fucking God. 

“Charon, what the fuck was that? It was way too close,” she spoke panicked, and practically jumped off the bed towards her clothes. 

“And so were you..” I mumbled, grabbing her by the arm. “We didn’t die, it’s fine, get back over here."

She squirmed out of my light hold and proceeded to get dressed hurriedly. “We have later, let’s go.” Abigail slung her gun over her shoulder and headed out the door while lacing her helmet. And I was left there wondering who I’m going to murder in about five minutes. 

After getting a bit more decent, I stepped outside and saw Desmond’s mansion on fire. Cool. Well, at least I thought so. Abigail was shuffling along with a pissy look half-hidden under her helmet. It didn’t take us nearly as long as normal to get to the mansion for some reason. I must have just zoned out for the entirety of it. When we got to the edge of the property, right where the flames began to die out, Abigail stopped. 

“I guess.. That chapter’s closed,” she huffed, an edge to her voice. I knew she wanted to find the fucker that ripped apart her brain and shaved her head. Don’t get me wrong, I did too, but with Desmond gone, we were at a dead end.

I shrugged, toeing a charred tree branch. It wasn’t really any skin off my teeth to be done with this fucking place, and to be done with that ghoul. Just as we turned to leave, Desmond’s voice rang out, “He killed my fucking pups!”

Abigail’s eyes shot open as she spun on her heels to see a very pissed off Desmond approaching. His classy suit was in ruins and I chuckled. “He tried to fucking kill me again! This is why I wanted your bloody help, girl. Now my pups are dead. You and that brute will be, too, if you don’t follow me to finally end this!” Desmond hooked a left and headed straight into the woods, and Abigail simply followed. And I, I always follow my Mistress.

This brain in a weird glass tube kept chattering on and on about winning some sort of rivalry, and it was getting really fucking annoying. It and Desmond kept shooting back and forth with petty little remarks as Abigail and I stood surrounded by robot bodies. Eventually I stopped paying attention to what those giant children were saying, more so focusing on the circuits zapping around us from all the corpses. Until I heard a gun blast, and glass shattering. The sound will always send me into protect mode, and I quickly searched to find my boss. 

Abigail stood there with a pistol still smoking, pointed at the glass tube where the brain is..was.. I arched an eyebrow bone with a smirk and she shrugged. “He was really, really annoying..” I think it took Desmond a bit longer to process what just happened, because he stood there quietly for a few more seconds. 

And then, once again, he wasn’t quiet. “That’s my girl, ending the fucking problem!” He smirked.

“More for me than you,” she shot back. “I just want to find who cut open my head and go home. I’m tired of this fucking place.” Abigail popped off her helmet and scratched her scar, as if to make a point.  
“Jesus, what the fuck happened to your hair?” Desmond squinted behind his glasses, and then began to walk passed her into another hallway. “You look too butch for me to fuck now. No thanks.” 

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Abigail throw a robotic arm at someone before, but I’ll be damned if it wasn’t the funniest thing ever when it cracked that dickhead right in the back. She grumbled and laced the helmet on a bit tighter than before and stalked off the way we came. This way just so happened to be through a bunch of locker rooms, which we than began to search for anything worth taking. And boy, was there a lot.  
My Mistress was bent, stuffing her pack with the last of anything good she found, which happened to be a box of shotgun shells. Normally she’d throw them to me since she never used them. Weird. 

I took a few steps towards her and halted. “Do you wish for me to take those, Miss?”

“No, I’m more than fucking capable of carrying a box of sho..” she began, but paused. “Oh, shit, sorry. Yeah, here you go Charon.” Abigail passed me the box rather gently, and I could see a sad smile from under her helmet. “My mind’s in other places.” I took the box and watched as she zipped up her pack. I shifted from foot to foot trying to find the words, any words, to help her. She must have noticed me staring and turned to look at me. 

“You still look..Beautiful,” I managed, panicking the entire way through the sentence. I didn’t wait to see her response, only began heading for the exit with a shaky grip on my shotgun. It was getting dark, I kept repeating in my head. That’s the reason I’m nervous. 

She didn’t say anything the entire trip back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much happens, but at the same time, a lot happens.   
> Y'feel me?

Once Abigail was informed that Tobar had been the one digging in her noggin, her and Nadine cornered the guy in the boathouse. It was different not doing the intimidating and killing. Nonetheless, it was enjoyable sitting on the dock and listening to the screams coming from inside the boat. The women emerged from the boat completely unharmed, yet splashed with a red tint. Abigail clutched a jar tight to her chest in a hug, smiling faintly at me. 

“Well guys,” Nadine began, as I approached the duo. “I’m staking my claim on this bad boy. Wherever you wanna go, just say.” The redhead grinned and patted her new ship’s railing. Abigail didn’t even hesitate to ask for a ride back to the Capital.

Half of the trip back was spent with Abigail putting together a brand new gun with all of the shit ones we acquired, and the other was spent with Nadine in the boat’s other room. I couldn’t really hear what they spoke about most of the time, only the occasional high-pitched giggle that normally goes along with women gossiping. 

One thing we brought back a lot of was liquor. We had drained most of the watered down whiskey on the way to Point Lookout, so we loaded up on vodka for the way back. Abigail said she liked the taste of vodka more, because it had a more intense burn. I can understand that. I went through one bottle nearing the last day, trying to calm the stir-crazy feeling that was finally filling me to the brim. Being confined like this still wasn’t as bad as being at the 9th Circle.

I was about halfway through my second bottle when I heard the sound of a voice, soft but firm. I listened a bit harder, and could swear I almost made out the order ‘get in there,’ that is, until the cabin door swung open. I caught a glimpse of Nadine shuffling back into the other room briefly until Abigail stepped into the doorway. She was.. Incredible. 

Before me was Abigail, only covered by the black underwear set from the hotel room. In the dim light of the cabin I could see her full hips tucked nicely into the thinning fabric, the tailored bra gently lifting her smallish chest, and the blush of being almost nude in front of anyone's eyes but her own.

I could see everything that any normal man could, and some they couldn’t. I saw the deep scar that resembled a pink canyon on her calve from a pissed off pack of molerats, and the blood still running down her leg as she took a knee on the ground in pain. All just to save a mutt in a scrapyard. I could see the white lightening bolt scars littering her torso after a raider planted a perfectly lucky shot on a car, it exploding on impact. Her skin tattooed by shrapnel only because she heard a slave was stuck in the house they guarded. I saw every rib indent from her insistence of feeding me first, and more proof of her good nature from the scar darting along her skull in the hopes of finding a lost daughter. And the most important thing I saw was the tiredness in her eyes, perhaps from sleepless nights in the wastes because no town would allow a ghoul in a hotel room. She ostracized herself just to save me from damnation. There was nothing extraordinary about these things which she carried on her body - any old wastelander had their fair share of scars and sleepless nights - but hers were different to me by the way she won them. They only made her more beautiful.

Fuck.

Abigail closed the door and shifted awkwardly. I could tell she was sober by the way her self-confidence crumbled once the door was shut and she was out of the way of encouragement from her friend. She took a hesitant step towards me, but I knew it was out of fear of rejection. I rose up on a surprisingly steady foot and closed the distance, a firm hand on her back pressing her close to my chest, and into a long-awaited proper kiss.

The only reason we woke up the next morning was the sudden jerk of the boat as it hit the docks. Nadine pounded on the door was we collected our clothes and got dressed, before diving off the boat and into her mother’s arms. I gently laced the chin strap on Abigail’s helmet, which left her with a half hidden smile. When we stepped off the boat with our bags loaded down with shit, we heard Nadine and her mom reconnecting. 

“But Nadine, I don’t want you running off like that anymore,” her mom commented sternly. “You had me worried sick. And why is there a big scar on your head!?”

“You don’t want to know, mom,” Nadine grinned, taking her hand and tugging her towards the boat. “But look, now we have a home we can take anywhere!”

“Oh, Nadine, no. We’re not traveling. You need to get rid of that thing.”

“Aaaaand back to Point Lookout! You guys coming?” Nadine yelled to us, and we quickly shuffled away. 

The door in Megaton slammed behind us, and Wadsworth beeped happily.

“Welcome home Madam,” he spoke his rehearsed line.

“Hey Wadsworth. Two beers, please.” Abigail threw her bag on the floor and fell onto the couch. It’d been a long trip from the dock to home. 

I unloaded everything except for weapons from my pack onto the kitchen table and began to do the same to hers. Anything that could cause harm went on the desk, including her chems. When I got to the last pocket on her bag I found the glasses she gave me wrapped up safely. Huh, must’ve left them somewhere. I smirked, grabbing them and my shotgun and heading up the stairs to my room.

“Charon?” Her voice made me pause. The tone was unusual, and I glanced at her to see an uneasy expression. “If you want, you can sleep in my room from now on. With me, I mean. Only if you want.” I nodded in return, and saw her eyes light up briefly.

I put my stuff on the top of her dresser. It wasn’t much, and I knew she’d reorganize it once she got up here. In fact, once I walked down stairs, I saw her at the kitchen table sorting everything by category and subcategory. It was quite the process to watch. Especially because somewhere down the line she had stripped to those short blue shorts and grey tank top. 

When she wore the tank top I could see a lot of the damage I had actually done. There were small red scratches that traced down her chest and dipped behind the fabric. Bruises like my fingertips were squeezed into her thighs and upper arms, and purple splotches - new and old - littered her neck. Fuck, that’s not going to go over good in this town.

“So I was thinking,” her voice cut off my train of thought, “We can stop by Moira’s place to sell some of this shit then head to the bar for a fun night. Yeah?” Abigail tilted her head over her shoulder for a second to make sure I was there. 

“What will you wear?” 

“Um.. This?” Abigail turned completely to face me, a hand on her hip. “Do I not look okay like this anymore, Charon,” she laughed. 

“Of course you do, Miss, but I don’t think it’s going to fair well to be wearing so little when you’re..” I paused, and she stared at me expectantly. I could see the annoyance begin to grow on her face. “Covered in bruises.”

Abigail shot me a weird look. “Bruises?” She shuffled to the kitchen and picked up a metal spoon, looking at her own reflection in it. This was odd to me until I remembered she didn’t have a mirror in her house. “Wow, I really am.. I’ll wear a baggy t-shirt. No problem. You have plenty I get to steal.” She shrugged and shot me a grin. 

On her way passed me up the stairs, she gave my ass a firm pat. And I think I liked it.


End file.
